


Dig in the Dirt

by sassyjumper



Series: Tiny House [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension, tiny houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson move into their tiny house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dig in the Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a quote about gardening: "You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt." Thanks to Srsly_yes at LJ for suggesting H/W live in Sebastopol. Upon doing further research I found that the grandaddy of the tiny-house movement lives there. Visuals for the H/W tiny house are [here.](http://www.tumbleweedhouses.com/products/lusby/#ad-image-0) :)

 

 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“House! There’s a kid.”

“Yeah, and this better be his playhouse. Because there’s no way I’m living in that thing.”

House scowled at the ridiculous structure in front of them. It wasn’t just that it was small; it looked like he could tip it over with a good shove. Plus, it was lame as hell, with clapboard siding, a tin roof and wind chimes clanging around on what passed for a porch—He guessed it was about seven feet wide and a couple feet deep.

Oh, and there was a wheelbarrow parked by the porch steps. It was probably the family’s mode of transport, House decided.

A little boy, maybe five years old, was sitting in the grass by the wheelbarrow. He’d been playing with a toy dump truck, but was now staring at House and Wilson.

“Hey.” House pointed his cane at the toy. “Don’t you know those things pollute the atmosphere?”

Wilson looked like he was about to assure the child he was not contributing to global warming when a man rounded the corner of the tiny house. “James?” he said with a big smile, already reaching for a handshake from fifteen feet away.

He reminded House of that annoying guy from _Thirtysomething_ who was sensitive and rode a bicycle. Not that he ever watched _Thirtysomething._ When he was a resident, it would just be on in the lounge sometimes.

The guy was upon them now, insisting on the kind of hearty handshake that verged on assault. “Aaron,” Wilson said, as his arm was vigorously pumped. “this is my friend I told you about. H—Greg.”

“I figured,” Aaron replied, still wearing that broad smile. “I see you already met my son.” He looked at House. “His name’s Leif.”

“Of course it is,” House said.

The smile faltered a bit, but Wilson smoothly cut in. “Thanks again for letting us come by on short notice. We really thought it would take longer to get to Seb—Se—”

“Sebastopol.” The thousand-watt smile returned.

“Sebastopol,” Wilson repeated, with a charming, self-effacing chuckle.

House rolled his eyes. “So. Does this place have an inside, or…?”

Wilson subtly flashed him the Don’t Start eyes, then smiled at Aaron. “We’re really excited to see the place. Peter said it’s great.”

A dreamy expression crossed Aaron’s face. “It’s so great,” he cooed. “We hate to give it up, but with Leif, it’s just getting too snug in there.”

House nodded. “Children are very large.”

Wilson glared, but Aaron just laughed. “C’mon,” he said, starting toward the tiny house. “Let’s go on the grand tour.”

 

*********

 

House was momentarily stunned when he walked through the red front door—just barely clearing it without ducking. The inside was actually kind of…cozy.

_And insane,_ he added, looking at the mini kitchen along the wall to his right. It consisted of some counter space, a sink, a two-burner propane stove top, and a couple cabinets under the counter.

He peered at Wilson and could clearly see the trepidation underneath the blandly pleasant smile. House leaned in close to his ear. “Sure is tiny.”

Wilson set his jaw. “I think that’s been implied all along,” he mumbled from the side of his mouth.

Aaron was gazing at them, pride written all over his pretentiously bearded face. “It’s a lot more spacious than it seems from outside, isn’t it?”

Wilson nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah.” He angled to their left, where there was a lounge chair, floor lamp and a folding table with two chairs. “I mean, you’ve got the chair. And the table…”

“Where’s the fridge?” House broke in.

Aaron pointed down, toward a mini-refrigerator underneath the kitchen counter. “It’s all we’ve ever needed,” he assured. “Oh, don’t let me forget to show you the garden out back. It actually has more square footage than the house! My wife grows at least half of what we eat. Sorry she’s not here to meet you. It’s her day to work at the co-op. _Oh,_ and I really recommend joining the co-op. The prices are great, and you just have to work there four hours a month—”

“Easy, now,” House said, with a fake chuckle. “We haven’t even seen the rest of the place yet.”

Aaron shook his head. “Right, sorry.” He gestured toward the back of the house, which was really close to the front of the house. “Bedroom’s right there. You’ll pass the bathroom on the way.”

House limped through the narrow doorway to the bedroom, which contained a twin-size bed, covered in Spider Man sheets, and a small wooden table and chair—which was where Leif had retreated to do his coloring.

“This is your room, I take it?” House inquired.

“Yeah,” Leif said, pushing his overgrown curls away from his eyes.

“You like it?”

The kid stopped scribbling and looked at him like he was crazy. “Yeah.”

House leaned on the doorframe. “How come?”

“’Cause it’s mine,” Leif said, the underlying “duh” coming through loud and clear.

House nodded. “Fair enough.”

He gave the room another scan; there were two decent sized windows and plenty of sunlight streaming in. So there was that.

House turned to leave, only to find Wilson about two inches from his face. He supposed he better get used to that. “Not bad,” he said, shrugging. “You should climb that ladder and see your room.”

Wilson did his confused thing. “You were ready to run two minutes ago,” he said under his breath.

“That was before I saw the Spider Man sheets.”

Wilson smirked. “I’ll see if I can get those thrown in with the deal.”

House returned the look. “Great. Seriously, though—See if you can even haul your ass up that ladder. Because there’s no way I’m letting you climb in with me and Spidey.”

Wilson held his gaze for a moment, with an expression he couldn’t quite read, then turned to mount the ladder.

“It’s completely stable. Don’t worry,” Aaron told House as they watched Wilson’s ascent.

House frowned. “Too bad. Watching him fall is probably the only entertainment available in Cesspool.”

“Sebastopol.”

“Oh, wow,” Wilson marveled from the top of the ladder. “There’s a lot of floor space up here. Is that a queen-size mattress?”

“Yep,” Aaron said, smiling at Wilson’s ass. The guy seriously couldn’t dial down the happy, House silently bitched.

“But,” Aaron added, “I do need to warn you. Be careful about sitting up too quickly when you wake up. With the slanted roof, the ceiling may be kinda…right there.”

House allowed a small smile. This loft might entertain him yet.

Wilson made his way back down and turned to them with a grin. “I’m sold.”

“Way to haggle,” House said, with an “Atta boy” fist.

Aaron guffawed, then waved a hand. “We’re not interested in squeezing every last dollar out of you. This is about finding good people to live here. I wouldn’t feel right leaving this house to anyone who wouldn’t love it like we have.”

House barked a laugh. “Well, then you better—”

“Sell it to us,” Wilson cut in. “Because I can guarantee you this place will be well taken care of.”

Aaron beamed, and House tried not to gag.

“Well.” Aaron clapped his hands together. “I guess you’re serious, then. I mean, we have to work out the details obviously, but…” He held a hand out to Wilson. “I think you’ve got yourself a tiny house.”

 

*******

 

As it turned out, Leif wanted to keep the Spider Man sheets, as well as the whole bed. So on his first morning waking up in his tiny room, House found himself luxuriously stretched out on a brand-new double bed. The thing consumed the entire room, but he was OK with that. He’d missed having a bed big enough to accommodate a full-on sprawl.

Their apartment in Houston had a double bed, but on most nights he’d shared it with Wilson, and he’d been careful to stay on his side—though there were nights when his leg was especially angry and he’d expand his territory. Sometimes Wilson would move to the couch. But usually he was too tired and just curled into himself to make more room, tolerating House’s invasion with remarkably little fuss.

Ironically, they now had more space between them at night than in Houston or any of their hotel rooms.

_Which is awesome,_ House reminded himself as he stretched his arms overhead.

That’s when he heard the thud from above. “Ow! Motherfu—Ow.”

House grinned. “Remember not to sit up too fast,” he called helpfully.

Wilson muttered something he couldn’t quite catch. A moment later, he was groggily descending the ladder. “What’s for breakfast?” House demanded as soon as Wilson’s feet touched the ground.

Wilson rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Um.” He blinked a couple times. “Let’s just go get something.”

House put his hands behind his head on the pillow. “But we’re supposed to start living the simple life. Now go get your basket and fetch the eggs. Oh, and churn some butter, ’cause I’ve got a hankerin’ for toast.”

Wilson ran a hand over his face. “Just get dressed,” he mumbled before heading into the bathroom.

“Hey!” House sat up. “Don’t use our whole three-minute hot water supply.”

Wilson responded by turning the shower on.

_Fantastic._

The place had a predictably tiny water heater. And as House had discovered the night before, it allowed him to wash roughly three-quarters of his body before the shower turned ice-cold. The stall was, at least, big enough to hold a shower seat, which was good. But House thought the lack of a tub might be his biggest problem here in Tiny Town.

Before they’d even moved in, Wilson had promised to “do something” about that. Naturally, House had scoffed. But now he was genuinely curious to see how Wilson planned to tackle that particular issue.

“Gah! Shit, shit,” came the cries from the bathroom.

House grinned again. “Gets cold fast, doesn’t it?”

No response. A minute later, Wilson re-emerged, back in his pajamas and towel-drying his hair. “All yours.”

“You could’ve let the cripple go first,” House grumbled, slowly pushing to his feet.

“You had a shower last night,” Wilson objected, moving to the ridiculously skinny closet just inside the front door. He grabbed a T-shirt and jeans from the shelves and turned around.

“Go on,” he said, shooing House toward the bathroom. “I have to change here. I—I can’t stand up in the loft.”

House smirked. “How uncouth. Dropping your pants in the kitchen?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to get over your delicate sensibilities living here.” He waved at House again. “C’mon, we have a lot to do today…We still need a bunch of stuff for the place.”

House paused in the bathroom doorway. “How could we possibly need a bunch of stuff?”

Wilson put his hands on his hips. “You’d be surprised what it takes to run a tiny household. Heidi left me a list.”

“Who the hell is Heidi?”

“Uh, the woman who sold us the house? Aaron’s wife.”

_Oh, right._ House remembered meeting her when Wilson signed the papers to become an official crazy person. She’d actually had braids.

“Fine. Whatever,” House said with a sigh. “But we are totally finding the greasiest diner in town first. And nothing recommended by _Heidi._ ”

Wilson frowned. “But…Well, there’s this organic café a few miles down the road.”

“Is grease organic?”

“Heidi said the breakfast is really good. They have eggs and bacon and—”

“Organic bacon?”

Wilson shrugged. “I think they feed the pigs organic food. And I’m pretty sure the farms have to treat them humanely. Y’know, they let them exercise and…do other pig stuff.”

“Yeah,” House agreed. “Pigs love a good workout.”

Wilson exhaled loudly through his nose. “OK, brush your teeth, put on some pants, and polish your horns. We’re leaving in ten.”

House opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Wilson was, after all, offering to lead them to bacon—at a place that presumably had adult-size tables and chairs, flush toilets and other features of the modern world.

“Fine,” he said for the second time that morning. “Organic pig products it is.”

 

*******

 

“Ugh,” House groaned, leaning back in the Big Chair and rubbing his stomach. “Too much organic bacon.”

“And eggs, and toast, and waffles, and hash browns,” Wilson said from his spot on the floor.

He was sitting cross-legged, fiddling with his iPhone and House’s new laptop—one of his conditions for agreeing to the tiny house. Wilson claimed to know how to use his phone to gain Internet access for the computer.

“Yeah.” House smiled sleepily at the memory of breakfast. Despite its insufferable name, the Earth’s Bounty café produced some tasty grub.

“Wait. I thought you just clicked on the thingy,” Wilson muttered, frowning at his phone as if it would answer him.

“Try clicking the other thingy,” House suggested as he stretched his legs.

Wilson continued to click and tap, quietly cursing every few moments.

“Funny how technologically intricate this simple life is,” House remarked.

Wilson huffed in frustration. “It’s just these couple things. I mean, we have to have a phone.” He paused to cast a disapproving glare. “And you have to download porn.”

House couldn’t argue with that. Luckily, he had no shortage of other arguments.

“And a composting toilet makes life simpler, too,” he said, latching onto one of the tiny-house details they’d argued over the most. “I remember how hard it used to be to flush and forget. I mean, I couldn’t just _forget._ ”

“House.” Wilson held out a palm like he was parting the Red Sea. “I don’t wanna hear it. And I don't know what you're complaining about, since I’ll be the one taking care of that.” He looked into the distance then, in mock epiphany. “Hmm. You letting me take care of your shit. There’s a metaphor buried in there somewhere.”

“Ohhh.” House swatted the notion away. “Those were the old days. I’ve been cleaning up your shit since the do-it-yourself chemo.”

Wilson glowered at him. “So sorry to trouble you.”

House shrugged. “It didn’t trouble me. I volunteered to do it, you may recall. I’m just pointing out that I am no longer the default cray-cray one in this relationship.”

Wilson blinked. “You’re fake-dead and hiding from the law, and I’m the one with problems?”

“Correct. Well OK, we both have problems. And you always have, buddy. It’s not a new development.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Oh- _kay._ We’ve established that—on numerous occasions now.”

“I know,” House agreed. “And since we’re starting life anew, I just wanna make sure we don’t slide into the old routine where you pretend I’m fucked up and you’re normal.”

Wilson opened his mouth as if to protest, but then clamped it shut. House could literally see the thoughts swirling underneath that fluffy hair.

Wilson sighed. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I don’t wanna go back to that, either.”

House nodded, trying not to feel smug. Well…he didn’t try all that hard.

“Of course,” Wilson added a moment later, “that means I can’t be doing all the cleanup anymore.” He looked at House and grinned. “According to Heidi’s schedule, the toilet chamber needs to be emptied tomorrow. You’re up first.”

 

******

 

In the end, compost duty wasn’t so bad. That was mainly because Wilson did it. He saw reason when they looked at the logistics of the operation: It required squatting on the ground outside the house, where a hatch allowed access to the toilet’s waste holder. So House had a legit excuse to back out.

He did, however, hover over Wilson and provide commentary.

“Ingenious,” he intoned as Wilson dug out the waste and transferred it to a plastic carrier. To House’s disappointment, it basically looked like dirt and didn’t freak Wilson out.

Wilson then heaved the carrier onto the wheelbarrow, and they—Wilson, really—pushed it to the tiny neighborhood’s compost center, where there were several huge, covered bins.

“So,” Wilson said, breathing hard as he parked the wheelbarrow. “These bins here are for drop-offs. Those over there...That’s the compost that’s ready for the gardens.”

House paused to absorb that information. “Whoa, wait. They use people fertilizer in their gardens?”

Wilson put his work-glove-covered hands on his hips. “It’s completely sanitary. It sits out here for a year before it’s used.”

“I don’t care. It gives me a Soylent Green vibe.”

“House—” The presumed lecture was cut short by a coughing fit, strong enough to make Wilson put his hands on his thighs and hunch forward to catch his breath.

House peered at him. “OK?”

Wilson took a deep breath then blew it out. “Yeah. I, uh, guess I’m pretty out of shape.” He offered a small, sheepish smile.

“That’s obvious,” House diagnosed. “You look pale, too. I mean, paler than your usual shade of extreme Caucasian.”

Wilson sighed. “I’m fine. I just need to get used to actually moving again.” He met House’s eyes. “I feel good.”

House chewed on his bottom lip. Of course he knew Wilson was probably just pushing too hard, and the breathlessness was nothing. But he couldn’t help the little internal alarm going off. He’d put himself on high alert a long time ago; after missing any signs of the cancer when it was developing, House was dead set on catching the first inkling of a recurrence, or a treatment complication.

He shook his head. “OK. You’re fine. But you’re not really thinking of keeping up that jungle behind the house, are you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

House rolled his eyes. “Remember the cactus plant you had in your office? It died. You managed to kill a _cactus._ ”

Wilson’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe House would stoop so low.

“In my defense,” he said, “I was pretty busy keeping cancer patients alive. Oh, and there was this tall jackass who’d barge in every day, demanding to be fed and watered and entertained.”

House jabbed an index finger at him. “You’re not pinning that on me, cactus killer. My point, which was apparently too nuanced, is that you lack a green thumb.”

Wilson crossed his arms and lifted his chin defiantly. “I am going to keep up that garden. You heard what Aaron said. We can grow most of what we eat—OK, _I_ can grow it.”

House stared. He could get down with the tiny house, but he could tolerate only so much earthiness. He was not becoming a vegan or some shit.

“Can you grow a steak?” he demanded. “Can you coax a Reuben to spring forth from the ground?”

Wilson wrinkled his nose. “See, that’s the point. We are done with red meat, globs of dairy fat, boluses of sodium…”

“Oh, are we? Need I remind you you’re in remission? It’s time to live.”

Wilson squinted. “You equate ‘living’ with Reubens?”

House assumed the question was rhetorical.

“OK,” Wilson said, “you can go buy all the Reubens you want.” He pointed an emphatic index finger toward their house. “But I am going to maintain that garden. And we are going to eat the food from it. I am _not_ gonna let it just—” He ground to a halt and pressed his lips together.

House waited to see if he would finish that statement, but Wilson just closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t need to say anything more anyway. House was adept at translating Wilsonian silence. Usually.

“I see,” House said, quieter now. “Well…Godspeed, Farmer Jim. Don’t expect any composting help from me, though.”

Wilson eyed him for a moment before nodding. “Got it. Of course, I’ll mourn the poop-based banter that could’ve been.”

House bobbed his head side to side. “Pretty sure I can still fit that in.”

Wilson huffed a little laugh before hoisting the container from the wheelbarrow and getting back to work.

 

*******

 

They made their way back home slowly even though the wheelbarrow was a lot lighter now. Wilson was tired and House’s leg wasn’t a fan of the uneven ground. And anyway, the sun was out and the breeze felt pretty good, House thought.

“You know,” he heard Wilson begin, hesitantly. “You are gonna have to find something to occupy your days. You and boredom are…Well, you know.”

“Yeah,” House replied.

He knew. While Wilson was in treatment, House’s mind had been occupied on most days; he’d convinced himself that he was Wilson’s real doctor. He knew he was his real caretaker.

Now he wasn’t sure what he was.

“Maybe I can raise some organic pigs,” he suggested, before Wilson could steer them further into Serious Discussion territory. “I’ll lead them through a program of calisthenics. And other pig stuff.”

Wilson nodded. “That’s…one idea.”

“What else do these earthy people like?” House scratched at his stubble. “Patchouli. I could be a patchouli salesman.”

He glanced at Wilson and saw a small smile forming. “Um. Chakras?” Wilson offered. “You could learn how to align people’s chakras.”

“Good one. People eat that crap up.”

Wilson’s smile broadened, and House allowed a small one himself.

“Well,” Wilson sighed. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yep,” House agreed as they approached their tiny house and its giant garden. He took another step then stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and tilting his face up. The sun was warm and the breeze still felt good.

“House?” Wilson’s voice sounded unsure.

He took a deep breath then opened his eyes. “Yep.”

He was ready to keep going.

 

 

**_TBC_ **


End file.
